


Competition

by MikeWritesThings



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Can be interpreted as platonic or romantic - Freeform, F/M, Friendship, Past Brainwashing, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rivalry, genji is here in spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 12:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15971924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MikeWritesThings/pseuds/MikeWritesThings
Summary: An odd relationship that formed because of their combined pride, loneliness, and alcoholic tendencies.





	Competition

**Author's Note:**

> french translations in the end notes!

Having the sniping training room all to himself was something that Hanzo had honestly took for granted. Of course, occasionally Ana Amari was present, but she made good tea, and was silent whenever she wasn't asking questions that forced him to stop and really, truly think. But aside from her, the blissful silence of that particular training room was something he had become accustomed to, and when that was suddenly no longer the case he felt like he had had a rug ripped from beneath him.

Sometimes, he did not use the room to train; sometimes, he sat on a perch, high above the various bots and weapons scattered throughout, and drank. He was unbothered by the rest of the base, as most never came in here, and those who did (for whatever reason) couldn't reach this place. It calmed him, having this one untouchable sanctuary in the middle of a minefield--a minefield named _Genji._

Because he was still being a fool, still refusing to claim what was his right, spouting on about forgiveness and whatever else that omnic monk had put in his head. It was for this exact reason, unable to stand his brother's earnest intentions of brotherly reconciliation, that he was on his safe perch, halfway through a bottle of saké and glaring at nothing.

From below, he heard the doors slide open, and shifted his feet so they were no longer dangling over the edge. Amari could not reach this place, but she could surely see him, and would no doubt try to engage a conversation from down below, where she could somehow still see through him, even from this distance.

However, it was not Amari who entered, but Overwatch's newest 'recruit'. Her bluish skin and long ponytail was easily recognizable, and after taking three steps into the room she immediately stiffened, turning her head slightly, before it snapped up and her eyes pinned him in place--disturbingly and obviously yellow even from here.

There was no point in hiding; he leaned over the edge, scowl evident on his face and unwilling to start the conversation. She, too, seemed unwilling to talk, and after several moments of silence turned her head back around and unslung the rifle Hanzo hadn't noticed was strapped to her back. Immediately, a certain amount of wariness filled him, and he shifted, adjusting himself so he was out of line of her sight. She did not, however, look back at him, and seemed content on ignoring him. He could barely see what she was doing from here, but if he had to guess, she was loading and examining her weapon.

 _Who in their right mind gave_ her _a gun?_

Hanzo watched, bemused, as she took a stance, scope raised to her face, and stood stockstill for several seconds. Nothing happened for a long enough time that he was ready to focus on something else in boredom, but suddenly five shots rang out and five dummies scattered around the room suddenly had holes in their foreheads--including one on a perch not so far from Hanzo's own. She did not even look up at him, and instead lowered her scope to check something.

He took the hole in the dummy nearest to him as some sort of warning and retreated for the night, not wanting to get drunk with someone else in the room anyways.

 

* * *

 

 

Widowmaker was, technically, an Overwatch recruit. She wore the ugly orange and gray training suit that Oxton liked to parade around in like a second skin, but thankfully her outfit lacked Oxton's god-awful crocs and instead merely consisted of simple sneakers that looked a tad bit too small. Hanzo chalked this up to her not yet having any clothes of her own.

(Just yesterday Oxton had offered her a wide array of clothes, and Widowmaker had turned her nose up at them immediately. Hanzo couldn't blame her--Oxton had an unbelievable amount of flannel, so much that it was actually kind of horrifying.)

Despite Widowmaker having the title and apparel of an Overwatch recruit, she was certainly not treated like one. She was either downright loathed (Pharah) or not cared for (McCree and Ana). Winston was cautious of her and Reinhardt seemed to have conflicting feelings. Those who were not a part of the original Overwatch had no particular reason to feel as strongly about her as the others, but there was certainly wariness amongst them.

Only Oxton, Lúcio, and Zenyatta didn't treat her with caution, and the latter was surprising considering she had assassinated his brother--then again, this was the same fool who had drilled into his idiot brother's head that Hanzo deserved to be forgiven.

Further evidence of her not being treated like a member was brought to Hanzo's attention, again in the training room. He was actually _training_ this time, on the floor near the dummies for some rapid-fire close combat practice, when he heard the doors open behind him and he paused. He was not yet familiar with the sound of Widowmaker's footsteps, but considering the ones he was hearing certainly weren't Amari’s he could only conclude it was her. He spared her a glance, and his eyes were nearly immediately drawn to her wrist.

A sleek bracelet adorned it, in what almost could have passed for a simple fashion accessory had it not been for Athena's logo glowing on its surface. A glorified house arrest bracelet, perhaps. He wasn't that surprised. Still, he turned his back to her and nocked another arrow, trying not to watch her load her rifle out of the corner of his eye.

Two hours passed in complete silence, resounding cracks from Widowmaker's rifle and whistling from his arrows the only noise present. Which was rather unnerving; Amari was quiet, but her presence was still there. Her slow breathing, deep exhales as she took a shot. Her focus was tangible in the air, as expected from one of the best snipers in the world.

Widowmaker, however, did not seem to exist. There were no sounds of a readying breath, no shifting of her gun. No aura of focus or calm. Only her rifle existed, only the shots she fired into various dummies’ heads had any presence. She was a machine, an extension of her weapon, and it truly, deeply unnerved Hanzo.

He was brought out of his thoughts after mindlessly shooting an arrow into another dummy, and a heavily-accented voice spoke over the _thunk_ of it finding its target.

"And what," it said, sounding somewhere between smug and curious, "do you plan to do when someone converges on your position?"

Hanzo turned to look at her. She had lowered her rifle, fixing him with a superior look. He was agitated by it, but answered anyways.

"I am trained in martial arts and I can rapid-fire my arrows. It would make quick work of my enemies."

A slight scoff. "You think a bow will be faster than a bullet?"

 _No,_ his mind told him logically, but his pride roared something different. "Would you like to find out?"

A split second later, her scope was raised to her face, barrel pointing directly at him, finger already on the trigger. Hanzo barely reacted in time, reaching quickly for an arrow, but he knew before he could ever draw it that he would be dead.

There was no crack that rang in his ears, and after several seconds of stillness she lowered her gun.

"And that," she said, "is why you are the inferior sniper."

Something akin to rage boiled inside his stomach. "And you? Are you going to snipe your enemies at close range?"

Wordlessly, she turned her gun away from her body, its scope disappearing, and when she pulled the trigger bullets rapidly fired, pelting the nearest dummy. With the same smug air from before, she slung her gun across her back and left him alone as he struggled to think of a biting remark.

* * *

 

 It became a silently agreed upon competition: who could take out the most enemies during their time in the training room, who could last the longest straining themselves to perform impossible shots and push themselves to their limits first. They would be in there for hours on end, shooting the dummies so many times that poor Winston had to remind them both that they were on a tight budget and could not replace them yet.

"Then work faster on bringing the training simulation back," Widowmaker told him curtly. "You are still doing it, _oui?_ "

Winston nodded, nervously pushing his glasses up his face as he stuttered out something about programming and data files, which Hanzo tuned out.

With Winston's words in mind, he took a break from archery training for three days, instead showing up in the sparring room from time-to-time, though he usually left early. Mostly everyone in the room was annoyingly friendly to him, and Genji often frequented it as well.

He did not see Widowmaker but once during those three days, and when he did he only caught her ponytail whipping around the corner into the kitchens at half past one a.m. He supposed even she had to eat sometimes.

He re-entered the training room sometime over the weekend, glancing around and noticing that he was thankfully alone. He adjusted his quiver and gave the string of his bow a few experimental tugs--even only three days of being unused left it feeling odd in his hands.

Hanzo stretched his arms a bit before nocking an arrow and drawing his bow, taking careful aim at a dummy about two hundred feet to his left. He exhaled slowly, and just as he released the arrow, he felt eyes on him, making the back of his neck prickle. He stiffened, glancing behind to see if someone had come in without him noticing, but there was nobody there. Wary, Hanzo lowered his bow and turned, eyes sweeping the training room once again. He saw no one, and, incredulously, raised his eyes to the perches high above. Surely nobody aside from Genji could--

And yet, there she sat, anyways. Elbow perched on her knee, one leg dangling and her hair loose around her shoulders. If he squinted, he could see a bottle beside her.

The fact that he had not noticed her until she had looked at him alarmed him, but he reminded himself that her presence was basically non-existent--but he would have to learn to sense her anyways.

“How did you get up there?” Hanzo called, only half-expecting an answer.

“ _Ç_ _a ne te regarde pas,_ ” Widowmaker said, voice throaty, and though Hanzo didn’t understand what she had said he figured it was some form of ‘none of your business.’

He knew that, in battle, she had a grappling hook to reach high places, but she didn’t have it on her, did she? He thought that would have been confiscated when they brought her in, in case they couldn’t undo the brainwashing and she…

Well. They let her keep the gun, so he supposed it wouldn’t be surprising if she had the hook as well.

His thoughts were interrupted when she let out a chuckle, shifting the rifle in her lap, and that was when he took a cautious step backwards.

“I am not going to shoot you,” she said, sounding too delighted with herself. Hanzo was not sure about that.

A pause.

“I can not get down,” Widowmaker said, a little more softly than before, and he almost didn’t hear her. He blinked, before his eyebrows raised.

“What?”

Her fingers enclosed around the bottle beside her, and she sipped from it, brushing her hair out of her face. That was answer enough for Hanzo.

“And do you...” He hesitated, glancing around even though he knew nobody was in there. “...Need help getting down?”

Widowmaker set down her bottle, wiping her mouth with her hand, said “No” and then laid down, legs still dangling over the edge.

Hanzo fought with himself for several moments, wondering if he should just turn his back and focus on training, but the way she was laying was making him slightly nervous--if she fell asleep, one wrong move could send her over the edge and to her death. He wasn’t quite sure how everybody would react if Widowmaker died a very preventable death around him--he was still somewhat unliked by a few key members of Overwatch, and he supposed that would only increase their distrust.

And Genji might be disappointed in him.

Hanzo’s teeth ground together, and after several moments of frustrating silence and internal debate, he set his bow down. Backing away from the wall, he eyed Widowmaker up above before running at it, jumping, and beginning to scale its mostly smooth surface.

He reached her in no time, taking in the sight of two bottles beside her. He couldn’t read the labelling on them--they were in French--but the smell alone tipped him off that it was some sort of alcohol. How she had managed to get ahold of them, he didn’t know, but he decided that if anybody should ask any questions he wouldn’t tell.

“Widowmaker,” he said, unsure of how to address her, but she didn’t move. Her head was turned and he could not see if her eyes were open or not.

“It will be much easier to bring you down if you are awake.”

No response.

He bit back a sigh of frustration and reached out to grab at her rifle, intending to move it. “Wid-”

A hand snatched at his wrist, lightning fast, before he could even move it an inch. She had turned her head, staring up at him.

“ _I,_ ” Widowmaker hissed, accent so heavy he could barely understand her, “ _hate that name._ ”

And then she dropped his wrist and her head.

* * *

 They did not speak of it afterwards. Even if Hanzo didn’t particularly care for her, he could understand hiding yourself up in an unreachable place just to drown everything out in alcohol. He had done it countless times at this point--and it was usually because of something Genji did. He hazarded a guess and figured that Oxton could be Widowmaker’s Genji at this point.

(She was annoyingly friendly. Even if they had hated each other mere months ago, it was like a switch had been flipped inside Oxton the moment Widowmaker’s brainwashing had been undone.)

The only time it was ever brought up was when Hanzo entered the training room to drink until he couldn’t think anymore, only to find that, despite the hour, Widowmaker was in there. Not shooting--just sitting down, back to the wall and gun in her lap.

He paused, staring, and wondered if he should just go back to his room. But his room was unsafe, as everyone on base had no concept of privacy and often barged in without knocking, and even if it was well past three in the morning, he wouldn’t feel as alone as he would like to be.

Widowmaker was merely one person versus many, but he decided that he wouldn’t be drinking tonight if he wasn’t able to find total solitude. He supposed he could always find somewhere else on base, but nowhere was as empty and isolated as this particular room was--whether it be because they didn’t have many snipers or because every sniper on base had a difficult relationship with everyone else. Even Amari, the trusted second-in-command from Overwatch’s glory days, was still shouldering Pharah and McCree’s displeasure at her faked death. Himself and Widowmaker were self-explanatory.

But why was she here at this hour?

“It is rather late,” Hanzo said, deciding to be the one to engage conversation. Widowmaker stared at him, before nodding minutely. He sat on the floor, feeling strangely underdressed in his sweatpants and long sleeve shirt. Though Widowmaker was still in her training suit, it was leagues better than his pajamas.

“Why are you here?” Widowmaker asked, thankfully not keeping the silence up for long. Hanzo bit back a scoff.

“I could ask you the same,” he said, and she scowled. After several seconds, she stood up, hefting up her rifle with her, and said bluntly,

“This is the only way I feel alive.”

Hanzo didn’t quite know how to respond to that.

“This is who I am,” she said, and it didn’t sound like her own conscious thought, but rather a mantra she’d heard over and over for the past six years. She raised her scope to her face, zeroing in on some target off in the distance, and she continued, “this is a part of me.”

The shot never came, but she kept looking through her scope, like she could somehow see the ends of the Earth with it.

“I can not sleep.”

Her finger hovered tantalizingly over the trigger.

“I can only do this.”

Hanzo didn’t feel as cautious or as wary as he had before whenever she had her gun in hand. This didn’t feel like the actions of a murderer planning her next kill, but rather, a woman struggling to regain her footing--or a sense of self.

It was a very easy case to crack once you actually paid attention.

“It does not have to be a part of you any longer,” Hanzo said, getting to his feet, though he didn’t know why. He had no intention of leaving nor getting closer to her. “Your brainwashing has been undone. You can...”

Hanzo trailed off, not quite knowing how to phrase what was in his head, and Widowmaker scoffed, lowering her rifle just slightly.

“I can never be the way I used to be,” she said, somewhat angry, somewhat sad, somewhat something else. “Talon made sure of that.”

A long, sullen silence, and then she kept talking, a little bit more ferocious than before.

“I killed my own husband. I was christened ‘Widowmaker’ because of it, and I took countless lives. I took the brother of that Shambali monk that treats me with kindness, the brother which Lena watched me kill. I pierced Ana Amari’s eye, and for all of this, nothing will ever be the same.”

“You were brainwashed. Nothing of what you did was your own doing,” Hanzo said, voice coming out insufferably smug as he pointed out the flaw in her argument, but she whipped around to face him, furious, voice rising.

“I enjoyed it all, Hanzo Shimada. The moment I find where they’re hiding, when my bullet pierces their skull, the moment their hearts stop beating I feel _alive._ ” She looked close to hitting him with the butt of her gun, or at least shooting him in the foot. “Do not try to repeat any of that nonsense that Lena has been telling me since day one, because none of it is true. I am a murderer, Shimada. _Appeler un chat un chat_ \--whether I was brainwashed or not does not matter.”

“At least you didn't do it of your own free will” Hanzo hissed, the reason he had even come here to drink surfacing in his mind--Genji and his forgiveness, that godforsaken monk, and three dragons, two of which were his own and who were turning on him with one swift movement of a blade.

Widowmaker, at least, did not have a choice--whether she enjoyed it or not didn’t matter, because at the end of the day, she was not the one who chose to pick up the gun and train its sights on her--on Talon’s--next target.

Hanzo, however, Hanzo picked up the sword himself as soon as he was told to--he didn’t fight it, did not suggest any other way. He faced his brother that night and gave him enough time to pick up his own sword as well so he could die honorably--and then he tore into Genji, mercilessly, angrily, picked him apart and shredded him with his dragons until only _bits_ remained.

Hanzo did that.

“I chose to kill my own brother,” Hanzo growled, an awful noise that came from the back of his throat. “My own actions lead to where I am now, and for that I am unforgivable. There is no redemption for me.”

He pretended there was, for so many years, stuck in the odd mentality that Genji, while most certainly dead, was also the only one who could kill him, and one day he _would_ kill him, and _that_ was the only death that Hanzo desired.

There was a long, heavy silence, as neither of them had ever anticipated these unplanned meetings to end with shouting and their own personal thoughts. Hanzo was prepared to leave Widowmaker here to shoot her rifle and take out every remaining dummy the base had, was prepared to break into his stash of alcohol even if anybody could walk in on him at any time, when she spoke and froze him where he stood.

“Hanzo Shimada,” Widowmaker said, her voice strangely flat, like she was reading something aloud. “Groomed from a young age to become kumichō of the Shimada-gumi.”

The Japanese didn’t sound quite right in her accent, but that only added to the uncanniness of it.

“What are you on about?” Hanzo asked, teeth grinding as he pinned her in place with a glare. She seemed unbothered, and glared right back at him.

“You were brainwashed as well,” she said. “So do not think you are _worse_ than me.”

A pregnant pause.

“I was not--”

“Grooming is the same,” Widowmaker said, sounding infuriatingly smug. “You were trained from birth to be mindlessly perfect, to obey your elders. I read your file, Shimada, I have read everybody’s file and I can tell you, none of them are worse than mine.”

“It is not a competition of who is worse than who,” Hanzo bit out. She sounded like _Genji_ now, who forgave him because he understood his actions were not entirely his own, but that was a foolish way of thinking. They were absolutely his own actions, and these two were daft to think anything else.

And let’s say he _did_ agree that conditioning was some form of brainwashing--it did not _compare_ to what was done to Widowmaker.

He did not want to stay here for the rest of the night, but he had managed to get a final word in, so he turned on his heel and left before she could respond. As soon as he arrived in his room, he got on his knees and slid out a case of alcohol. It wasn’t saké--something a little stronger--but that was exactly what he needed.

* * *

 

“You’ve been spendin’ lotsa time with Amélie lately,” Oxton observed one morning, too chipper for five a.m. She was about to leave on an escort mission and had gotten up early to make breakfast, which also happened to be the time Hanzo got up to eat.

“It is not planned,” Hanzo said, prodding at his rice, not all that hungry. “Merely coincidence. It comes when you both use the same training room.”

“And she hasn’t kicked you out yet?” Oxton laughed, spreading beans across her toast, which Hanzo wrinkled his nose at. It certainly wasn’t as atrocious as Torbjörn’s typical breakfast, but it still looked unappetizing.

“No,” he answered. “She hardly can.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Oxton huffed, and took a bite of her breakfast. “‘ought she would ‘ave tried, ‘ough.”

At Hanzo’s look, she swallowed her food and repeated, “Thought she would have tried, though.”

He thought about it for a second, before shrugging it off. “She likes the competition.”

_As do I._

* * *

Neither of them had brought up what had happened the week before, and he was content with it. He felt like he had won the argument, somehow, and that was good enough for him. Twice, she came into the room without her rifle, and just sat down, watching him. He did not say anything of it--if this was her way of regaining footing, it was none of his business.

She judged him severely, though.

“Would your target not hear the draw of the bow?” Widowmaker asked one evening, arms crossed over her knees. Hanzo bit back a scathing remark.

“They are always dead before they can even turn around,” he instead said.

“Hmm,” she hummed. “Even if they die the next second, your position is compromised. Your enemies will know your location.”

“I am not as incompetent as you seem to think I am,” Hanzo said, barely glancing back at her as he fired three arrows at once. Two hit their mark, one just barely missed. He was fine with it--he had only started practicing this yesterday, after all.

“I have no reason to believe otherwise.” Widowmaker had a hint of challenge in her voice.

“Would you like to see me in action?” Hanzo asked, arrogance building up in his chest. “You may find a reason there.”

“There would be no reason to have two snipers on one mission, so I think I will have to decline.”

“Pity.” His voice dipped into something a tad bit more sarcastic. “All that I needed in my life was the great Widowmaker’s v-”

“I,” Widowmaker said, voice relatively lofty, “ _hate that name._ ”

Hanzo did not say anything, waiting for her to continue.

“It will be _Amélie_ to you, Shimada.”

“Just _Hanzo_ is fine,” Hanzo said, nocking three arrows once again. “We do not want to cause confusion with Genji.”

“Of course,” Amélie said.

“Are you Amélie to anybody else?”

All three of his arrows hit their mark this time.

“ _Guillard._ ”

He did not ask why she did not say Lacroix. He figured it was obvious enough.

“Some of the others may not like that,” Hanzo said, turning around to face her. She met his gaze evenly.

“ _Qu'ils mangent de la brioche,_ ” Amélie said, and stood up to leave.

* * *

 

It was a strange, oddly formed friendship. He was not even sure how it happened--one evening they had yelled at one another, comparing pasts, and then the next thing he knew he was calling her Amélie as they sat with Amari and drank Koshary tea.

(“It’s rather lonesome being surrounded by so many people,” Amari had said, shifting her gaze to Amélie, who glared back at her and pointedly drained the rest of her cup. She had left shortly after.)

They did eventually end up on a mission together--two snipers were needed to cover two separate areas so McCree could safely extract some data; a stealthy operation. Zenyatta was accompanying them as well, in case any medical assistance was needed.

They sat opposite of each other, respective weapons in their laps, but it was not uncomfortable. Far from it--they were talking quietly with one another, careful not to disturb the others in the ship.

“I suppose I will see what you can do after all,” Amélie was saying, adjusting the scope of her rifle with practiced precision.

“Hardly,” said Hanzo, who had already checked over his bow and arrows. “We will be too far from one another.”

“ _You_ may not see me.” At this, she tapped the side of her helmet, and two mechanical parts shifted so it was now covering her eyes. “But you will be in _my_ sights.”

To their right, McCree gave a loud snore, and their heads both snapped jerkily to eye him. He had not moved once yet--his hat was still covering his face as he snoozed on, and if Hanzo squinted he could see a faint trail of drool on his beard.

“...Amari was right,” Amélie said after their silence had stretched on, surprising Hanzo somewhat. “It _is_ lonely, being surrounded by everybody.”

He understood what she meant.

“But you will be forgiven, at least, far easier than I. Perhaps you may not feel as isolated when that happens.” They were both still looking at McCree, who, despite his attempts to appear cordial, clearly harbored contempt for Hanzo. Amélie looked as if she was ready to argue, but then her shoulders relaxed, and her head cocked to the side.

“That may be true,” she agreed. A different way of thinking from the other night; a welcome change. Hanzo fought back a smirk as he added,

“And you already have _my_ forgiveness.”

Amélie’s eyes flashed, perhaps somewhat angry, until he said,

“For underestimating my ability. You will take back your words tonight.”

At this, she laughed, and it was cold just like the rest of her, and he found himself smiling as her laughing subsided. She picked up her rifle to examine it once again, a small smile on her face, before glancing up at him, a clear and inviting challenge in her gaze.

“We shall see, _mon ami.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Ça ne te regarde pas/it does not concern you
> 
> Appeler un chat un chat/idiom, calling it how it is. in this case, she is a murderer no matter what.
> 
> Qu'ils mangent de la brioche/let them eat cake. basically, fuck them lol
> 
> i am no way at all fluent in french so feel free to correct me!
> 
> wow i fell into ovw HARD and this didnt rly turn out v shippy bc im not good at these characters yet and dont feel that comftorable writing them ;w;
> 
> anyways this is for candy ... i lov u candy and i hope u like this sksksksk
> 
> [feel free to follow my tumblr](https://theseerofdoomisunaltered.tumblr.com) or [my twitter!](https://twitter.com/tsodmike)


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